A Lady's Secret Weapon (13 page)

“Lord Danforth, I’m so happy you could join our little gathering.” The Marchioness of Shevington crossed the drawing room, extending her hands in greeting.

Ethan obediently kissed her powdered cheek. “And miss an opportunity to spend time with one of my favorite women?”

She squeezed his hands then linked her arm with his. “Save your pretty compliments for the young ladies. They have more need for them than me.”

He winked at her. “Who am I to entertain tonight?”

“I’m sure you’ll understand, but I have saved the best partner for my son.” Her eyes twinkled. “I am quite determined to find him a wife before year’s end.”

At times, Ethan both envied and empathized with his friend. Shev had a mother who adored and fawned over him like any proud mama would. But, if it were her son, her very fawning would cause Ethan to bolt any time she approached. “I will have to console myself with second best.”

“As with my son, I have taken good care of you. You will not be disappointed with your dinner partner.”

The smile she sent him was not one of reassurance, but one of nefarious intent. A sudden need for masculine support hit him. “Where might I find your scapegrace son?”

“He should be here any moment. Allow me to introduce you to my friends.” For the next ten minutes, Ethan met an interesting assortment of businessmen, shopkeepers, craftsmen, and even a servant or two. They all knew the marchioness from when she was a small child dashing around their neighborhood until her newly prosperous father sent her off to an exclusive boarding school for young ladies. Unlike many who were born commoners and then married into the aristocracy, the marchioness never lost touch with her childhood friends.

Of course, there were those of the
ton
who did not approve of Shev’s mother mingling with the lower classes. To her credit, she paid them no mind. She had once admitted to Ethan that remembering the challenges her family faced all those years ago helped her to appreciate her good fortune today. And staying in touch with her old friends kept her from becoming a snooty aristocrat.

Ethan thought she was merely a rebel. She took an inordinate amount of glee in flouting society’s customs and tweaking a few pompous noses. All this she did with only the slightest of repercussions. She paid them gladly, though, making her one of the most genuine and kind-hearted people he knew.

The marchioness halted a few feet away from the last of her guests. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

Facing them stood an attractive woman in her forties, whose once beautiful blond hair had begun to dull with time. Next to her idled a younger, slimmer version of herself, with eyes bluer than Sophie Ashcroft’s and a smile that would catch the notice of any masculine gaze. To her right fidgeted an even more youthful male replica. Ethan guessed the two younger guests, probably brother and sister, were still two or three years from reaching their majority.

Then Ethan’s attention moved to the couple, who shifted to the left to make room for Lady Shevington. Ethan barely took notice of the older gentleman, for his entire focus centered on the tall, dark-haired beauty wrapped around the man’s arm.

Miss Sydney Hunt. The maid who’d helped nurse him back to health after he’d received the worst beating of his life. He still couldn’t believe he’d finally found her. If not for an unruly lock of hair, he might still be searching. Something about the simple action of tucking a strand of hair behind her ear had brought a blurry memory of her sitting at the edge of his makeshift bed into sharp focus.

Draped in rose silk, Miss Hunt outshone all the other young ladies present. Refined, confident, accessible—qualities most gentlemen would seek in a lover. Unfortunately, most of London’s ballrooms were populated by debutantes taught to suppress the very qualities that would make them most appealing. Ethan had learned much about beauty and its many disguises—and uses. Although he could still admire a woman for her svelte figure and feline eyes, it was not those qualities that would make him linger in her presence for more than an hour or two.

Anticipation pulsed inside Ethan’s veins. The day before, his concern for her had overridden any thoughts of the dockside maid or her cloaked partner. But now, his mind was overwhelmed with his good fortune. Hours of searching had finally born fruit, and he was one giant step closer to finding his savior. Once that long-sought occasion occurred, he would be free of this blasted debt of honor.

Why would she risk her life to care for a stranger? How did she come to know the cloaked figure? How many other disguises did she have in her repertoire? An endless stream of questions ran through his mind, but no answers surfaced. Those would have to wait until he got her alone again.

Miss Hunt’s eyes rounded in recognition, and Ethan did not miss the slight shift in her posture that brought her closer to her gentleman friend. Now that Ethan’s shock had dissipated, he studied the man standing protectively at her side. The term
distinguished
came to mind as he took in the man’s sharp jawline, silver-dusted brown hair, respectable height, and aging, yet Corinthian build.

Lady Shevington said, “Please allow me to introduce Viscount Danforth, a good friend of my son’s. Lord Danforth, it is my pleasure for you to meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Mrs. Pratt.” She indicated the blond-haired woman and then nodded toward the older gentleman at Miss Hunt’s side. “And her husband, Mr. Pratt.”

The pressure building around Ethan’s heart eased, and he bowed over Mrs. Pratt’s hand before shaking her husband’s. So, this was Sydney’s mother and her stepfather, the man she called father and the one who helped her establish the Hunt Agency.

“And their children—Miss Hunt, Miss Pratt, and the youngest, Mr. Pratt,” the marchioness said.

After the appropriate curtseys, handshakes, and bows, Mrs. Pratt said, “This is your white knight, Una?”

“Indeed, it is, Charlotte,” the marchioness said. “Lord Danforth has saved me from embarrassment more than once.”

Ethan placed his hand over Lady Shevington’s, where it rested on his arm. “It is nothing compared to the many kindnesses you have shown me over the years.”

“Yes, yes, yes, Danforth’s a saint,” a new voice interrupted. “When might we eat? I’m starved.” Lord Shevington bent to kiss the crown of her mother’s head.

She rolled her eyes in the manner of long-suffering mothers around the world. “You are always starving. Stop acting the bored aristocrat and make your hellos.”

“Yes, Mother,” Shev said, his lips twitching. He shook the men’s hands and kissed each lady’s cheek.

“Pratt,” Shev said. “How is the banking business?”

“Lucrative as always, Shevington. And the House of Lords?”

“Tedious as ever, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. Pratt has been charged with the difficult task of combating forgery at the Bank of England,” Lady Shevington informed Ethan.

“A difficult task, indeed,” Ethan said. “I suspect the Ann Hurle incident last winter caused quite the fracas within the bank.”

“That poor dear,” Mrs. Pratt said. “Hanged at two and twenty.”

“Your ‘poor dear’ nearly cost the bank five hundred pounds,” Mr. Pratt said. “If my clerk had not noticed the dissimilarities in Mr. Allin’s signatures, she would be living quite well in America, or some other faraway country, at the moment.”

“Well,” Mrs. Pratt huffed, “you know the young woman could not have concocted such a scheme on her own. I still maintain the rascal who accompanied her to the bank put the girl up to forging Mr. Allin’s signature and trying to sell his stocks.”

“You are no doubt correct, Mother,” Miss Hunt said, breaking her silence. “Such grand schemes are rarely formulated by one intellect. But you, of all people, should know better than to underestimate the strength of the female mind.”

Mrs. Pratt’s fierce gaze gentled. “Quite right, dear.”

“Pardon, Lady Shevington,” the butler said.

“Are you ready for us to assemble in the dining room, Stafford?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“This evening, we shall not concern ourselves with precedence,” she said to the group. “Lord Danforth, I have paired you with the lovely Miss Pratt. Shevington, you shall escort Miss Hunt, and I am absconding with your handsome husband, Charlotte.” She smiled at Mr. Pratt. “No need to worry, Jonathan. I have the perfect dinner partner for your wife and your son.”

“My concern was not for my wife, but for me.”

The marchioness humphed before guiding her two remaining victims away.

“Well, Syd,” Shev said with a familiarity that made Ethan’s eyes narrow. “My dear mama is attempting to reform me again. Are you up for it?”

Miss Hunt smiled. “Marcus, you know how I adore challenges.” She placed her hand on his proffered arm, sending Ethan a quick glance.

Ethan could do little more than stare at the striking couple in stony silence. Why hadn’t Shev mentioned his close relationship with Miss Hunt when Ethan had asked him about her agency? It made no sense. Then he recalled his friend’s comment about everything being a secret with him. Maybe Shev figured Ethan would refuse to answer any return questions, and he would have been right. Or, perhaps, his friend liked to see Ethan squirm.

After several conflicting seconds, he recalled his duty to her sister. “Miss Pratt, shall we join the others?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said in a shy voice.

He nodded to her father. “Pratt.” The older man nodded back but said nothing, simply gazed at him with a speculative gleam in his gray eyes.

Once the guests were seated, the footmen stationed around the dining room swarmed the table to ensure each guest had a serving of mock turtle soup, macaroni and chicken, braised ham, sweetbread, and an assortment of other dishes Ethan could not name. Through the first three courses, Ethan forced himself to give Miss Pratt his full attention. He had to admit, under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed his dinner partner’s conversation.

Quite unlike her sister, Miss Pratt did not guard her every word. She spoke of her father’s position at the bank and her mother’s many charitable endeavors. She touched on her intimates’ marital prospects and the museums she loved to visit. And she also bemoaned her brother’s unforgivable behavior around her friends. But when she spoke of her sister, her tone wavered between awe, envy, and the slightest bit of resentment.

He understood the contrary nature of her position. She lived in the shadow of her beautiful, accomplished sister, someone she loved very much but would forever be compared to. Everything she did, her parents would weigh it against what Miss Hunt had done or not done. And she would be judged. Not on her own merit, but on how well she followed her sister’s example.

A bark of laughter erupted from the opposite end of the table, drawing his attention away from Miss Pratt. Shev was grinning down at his dinner companion, who appeared equally amused by Shev. Then his friend’s gaze dipped down to Miss Hunt’s mouth before bending close to whisper something near her ear. Her smile broadened and was followed by a quick shake of her head.

Something hot and dangerous flowed beneath the surface of Ethan’s reserve. He couldn’t stop his sudden and intense dislike of the cozy scene they made. How could she encourage Shev’s attentions after the stunning kiss they had shared the day before? His hands tightened around the knife and fork he held.

“You admire my sister?” Miss Pratt asked, though her inquiry held only a small questioning note.

“She is a remarkable young lady.”

“And quite beautiful.”

Ethan forced a smile. “As is her sister.”

“Please, my lord,” she said in a voice that sounded much older than her years. “I was not digging for a compliment but merely stating a fact. Men are captivated by Sydney’s beauty, yet they flee when confronted with her intelligence. Lord Shevington has always been the one exception.”

“But not the only exception. Weak minds can often easily feel threatened.”

“It’s just as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

Miss Pratt peered down at her sister for a long time, sadness in her eyes. “Sydney’s association with men will never go beyond friendship. So, you need not send your friend dagger looks for making her smile. She enjoys his company, but Lord Shevington could never provide the depth of happiness Sydney deserves. They both understand this on some level and, because of this understanding, they do not allow their parents’ machinations to affect their friendship.”

“Please do not stop your tale there, Miss Pratt. You have aroused my curiosity. Why will your sister’s association with men never go beyond friendship?”

She sent him an apologetic glance. “I have told you all that I can. The rest you must pull from Sydney. If she will allow it.”

Ethan’s gaze drifted down the table again. Instead of looking at the striking couple and their shared smiles, he focused on Sydney, and Sydney alone. He noted her proud posture, strong jaw, flawless skin, and her alert, intelligent eyes. When he looked beyond her proprietress’s mask, he also glimpsed an unmistakable aura of sadness hanging about her. The thought that she struggled with the same compulsion to hide—her feelings, a past hurt, a difficult decision—from her intimate circle, as he had in recent months, made him seethe with anger and ache to come to her aid.

When the time came for the ladies to retire to the drawing room and the gentlemen to settle in for a glass of port, Shevington kept the separation to a quarter hour. Once everyone was in the drawing room again, small groups gathered together to play games or to discuss anything from the weather to William Pitt’s return to the premiership.

Ethan prowled around the edge of the crowd, stopping at different intervals to speak with the marchioness’s guests. He did not fool himself, though. His destination was clear. It probably had been from the moment he first saw her, two hours ago.

Miss Hunt stood with her sister in front of an open door that led out to a small terrace. The proprietress bent her dark head toward her sister’s lighter one. He hesitated to interrupt their private conversation, but as with most things concerning his nemesis, he could no more stop his progression toward her than he could stop the sudden rush of heated awareness.